


In the Frosty Air

by fallenxstarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas fic, M/M, One-Shot, Winter Break, Winter fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenxstarr/pseuds/fallenxstarr
Summary: Draco Malfoy needs to clear his head- getting locked out is just an unfortunate addition. Getting locked out with Neville Longbottom is even worse. Right?
Relationships: Neville Longbottom & Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	In the Frosty Air

**Author's Note:**

> I condemn JK Rowling’s recent transphobic, inaccurate, and dangerous statements on sex and gender identity. If you agree with her views, please do not read, comment on, or kudo this fanfic. I support the rights of transgender people to be called by their chosen pronouns, respected in their expression of gender, and treated fairly and equally in all things. ♥ Also, this fic was written by a nonbinary person!

Winter at Hogwarts was always an especially irritating occasion. No one was listening in class and there was always water all over the halls and snow in Draco’s boots. It felt like a waste of time.

“But at least Christmas break is nearly starting,” Pansy kept saying every time he complained. “and then we can get out of here.”

It was hard to argue with this. Not because he couldn’t, but because doing so would mean he’d have to stop pretending his home life was the perfect environment all the Slytherins assumed it was. His family were some of the Dark Lord’s favorites after all.

He could shrug and bear it, enough not to ruin the image, but he couldn’t stop complaining either. Being at Hogwarts with the loud, lowbrow, and strangely dirty students and being at home with their disgusting house elf watching him 24/7 and his parents tensely arguing about every single thing possible was difficult to choose between. Not that he got a choice anyway.

In their dormitory Crabbe was trying to write a letter home. “Trying” because he had been doing this every night for the last several days and with the way he screwed up his eyes Draco was starting to think he honestly couldn’t write. Apparently he was trying anyway because he had Christmas demands he seemed worried wouldn’t be met.

He watched Crabbe, leaning so close to the paper he was almost on top of it, and tried to ignore the commotion in the room. The other boys were arguing about something idiotic (he didn’t have to listen in to know that much) and he sensed someone was dangerously close to trying to get his attention.

His frustration, lately, was always right on the surface. Snapping wouldn’t look good. He could get away with it, but someone was bound to take it as a sign that something deeper was happening and start making some accusations. He knew they already were making some, when they thought he wasn’t listening, to people they thought wouldn’t tell him.

He stood up abruptly, ignoring the eyes on him.

“Where are you going, Draco?” Blaise asked.

“Out.”

“After curfew?” Blaise sounded more amused than anything else, and Draco bristled at the tone.

He turned to look at the other boy, giving him his patented look of devious grace. “Do you really think anyone could stop me?”

He cursed his own spite. He hadn’t really meant to go “out” out, and yet when he found the doors unlocked, he’d done it anyway to prove that he could. What did it matter anyway? No one was going to actually know- if he was lucky. But that hadn’t occurred to him early enough.

And now the door was locked. All he’d done was walk for a couple minutes in the snow, but by the time he turned back, someone, Filch probably, had locked him out. Draco fought the urge to kick the door.

“Oh no...”

He turned instinctively to the sound. The small, wounded voice was attached to a shadowy figure that, after a few moments, his eyes identified as Neville Longbottom.

He looked as if he was trying not to show that he had seen Draco at all, eyes on the ground, shoulders raised defensively like he could hide.

“What are you doing out here, Longbottom?” Draco spat.

Neville stood, perfectly still, eyes unmoving. Losing his temper under the suddenly too heavy weight of inconvenience, he took a large step forward and pushed him. It was a stupid move. Too violent to be played off, too gentle to be a real threat. He scowled at himself.

Neville flinched, and Drazo followed his eyes to Draco’s wand, hidden away but peeking out of his robes. The idiot really thought he was going to hex him.

He rolled his eyes, considered considering it, and was dully surprised that he didn’t want to. Any anger he’d been expecting hadn’t shown itself. He was still frustrated, yes, still kind of hoping to crash into a wall of _something_ to force him into a fight, but Neville wasn’t that wall, and more than anything he just felt tired.

Normally Longbottom would have been a good target. He was easy to intimidate, and obviously quite easy to fight, but you could get enough of a rise out of him- if you knew how- to keep it interesting. But the temptation just wasn’t there. Draco blamed it on the cold.

And it was _really_ fucking cold. The air was biting at him, stinging his face. He wished he could hex Filch. His finger flexed out on impulse, as if they agreed and were ready to grab his wand.

He could tell by Longbottom’s face that he noticed too. Draco did it again, on purpose this time, just because he could. Then he frowned at the door, willing it to give him some answers. There had to be a way, past the door and not getting frostbite near the terrified corpse of Neville Longbottom, and he would find it.

“We could...”

It took him a moment to realize the sound wasn’t the wind, but Longbottom, who already looked like he regretted opening his mouth. Draco gave him his best cool stare, eyebrow pointed threateningly, but the effect was more or less ruined by how much he was shivering.

He watched the other boy take him in, a bitter feeling in his mouth. There was fear in Longbottom’s face, but it didn’t look the way it had when he’d spotted him, and it didn’t look the way it did when Draco usually came across him. This was more of an assumed, lived-with fear, something he couldn’t shake off, but knew how to deal with. And beyond that, there was a thoughtful expression, like he was making a hard decision, or maybe just one he didn’t want to have to make. But the worst, was the thing in his eyes when they fell on Draco, who was scowling and shivering in front of him, that was far too close to pity. Draco reconsidered hexing him.

“We could,” Longbottom started again. His voice was low enough that it had to compete with the wind, but wasn’t trying very hard to win. “go to the greenhouses.”

Draco just stared at him. “What?”

Longbottom made an expression like his face would have gone red, had it not already been from the cold. “It’s- the door’s locked.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow again.

“Not the- the door.” He gestured helplessly to the door Draco was in front of. “Not the greenhouse door. We can.... It’s warm in there.”

Draco weighed his options for a moment. He could try to get someone’s attention to open the door, get into trouble, and then have to deal with that disappointment as well as his family’s regular disappointment when he got home. He could get one of the boys to open the door, if he could find a way to be sure it was one of them that he reached. Which he wasn’t sure he could do, and led him directly back to the dangerous ground of socialization and stupid conversations and, surely, bad accusations. Or, he could start a fire, and sit here in the snow until the sun rose, and then sneak back in.

He eyed Longbottom. Or, he could go to the greenhouses, with Longbottom.

He sighed, creating an irritable cloud with his breath, and then began walking towards Longbottom.

Longbottom opened his mouth, and then closed it soundlessly, and started walking instead. The walk to the greenhouses felt longer than they ever had, mostly because Draco’s feet were frozen.

When they finally got there, he grabbed the doors without preamble, and felt his heart sink. They didn’t budge.

Neville cleared his throat from behind him, staring at Draco.

“You said it was unlocked,” Draco glared at him.

“It- it will be,” Nevile said defensively.

“ _Alohomora_ won’t work, Longbottom,” Draco insisted peevishly. He should have stayed at the front door. He should have started a fire.

“I know.” The other boy moved beside him- startling close, actually, since Draco didn’t think they’d ever once been side by side- and pulled something out from his pocket. He twisted the key in the door, and was relieved to see it fall open for them.

Draco collapsed on the floor, taking in warm, plant-y smelling air with reckless abandon. He remembered himself too late, and sat up in a more respectful way, back against a leg of one of the long tables. He was still thinking about setting a fire.

“Why did you have a key?” He asked, now that he could think again.

Longbottom, wherever he was, was silent long enough that Draco expected the question would go unanswered. And then, his voice piped up, somewhere further back in the greenhouse, “Professor Sprout gave me one.”

“But why?” Draco wasn’t sure why he was even asking. It wasn’t something that should have been particularly interesting. But the thought of Neville Longbottom being granted anything was odd enough to get his attention.

Again, the question met silence. And then, again, “I take care of the plants. Sometimes.”

His voice was closer no, and in a few seconds, Draco could hear his shuffling footsteps a few feet away.

“In the mornings,” He added. And then he sat. He didn’t look comfortable doing so, but he did it anyway, with a strange expression in his face, and Draco’s attention was piqued again. He decided to chalk it up to some kind of snow madness.

“It isn’t the morning,” Draco said, because it was something to say.

Longbottom shook his head. “I...” This time, his face _did_ turn red, the warmth of the greenhouse having brought his regular color back.

Draco waited, arms crossed against his chest. Longbottom looked like he was working through something, and there was something compelling about the way he did it. His eyes fell to the hem of his jumper, hands spreading out against the floor, and there was an ever deepening crease between his eyes, as they slowly moved upwards, to the plants on the tables. His mouth twitched like he was forming words without ever saying them. It landed in a soft frown, the kind that says the person was given an order they didn’t like, but they couldn’t argue with. Then, he spoke, unrushed.

“I can’t sleep. Sometimes.” His eyes were moving again, not quite on Draco, but closer. Draco wondered absently if Longbottom had ever looked him in the eyes. He felt the answer was probably no. “There’s always something to do, for the plants. And,” His eyes moved again, an inch closer to acknowledging the person in front of him. “studies say talking to plants makes them healthier. I just... I’ve never stayed out this long. I’ve never... This hasn’t happened before.” He looked borderline miserable.

“You sneak out at night and talk to plants?” Draco asked. It sounded less mean than he’d expected it to, but Longbottom still reacted like he was about to get hit.

He didn’t answer.

“How often?” He asked, and then waited. Longbottom’s face and hands did their dance again, and he watched it find its ending again, forcing him to answer.

He shrugged. “Never more than three nights a week,” Longbottom said.

“You sneak out _three times a week?_ ” Draco shouted. Longbottom flinched. “How? How are you even _managing_ that? You’ve never gotten _caught?_ ”

Longbottom shrugged again, shaking his head. He looked completely unsure what to do now. He glanced again at where Draco’s wand was hidden.

“What the ever loving fuck, Longbottom?” It came out as a laugh, to both of their surprise. Draco felt his ears pink a little, and he tried to pull his regular Hogwarts face back up, with middling results. Regular Hogwarts Draco would not have laughed. Or said fuck. Or, he guessed, hidden out in a greenhouse after midnight with Neville Longbottom. But Regular Hogwarts Draco was leaving tomorrow anyway.

Something in him sagged. He’d managed to forget, for a few minutes, that he was going home.

“What about you?” Longbottom asked. He said it the way one might speak to a stray dog you were hoping were friendly, but assumed wasn’t.

“What?”

“Why are you-” He tripped over his words, suddenly unsure again. “How did you get locked out?”

“Took a walk,” Draco said, still mainly in his own head, still thinking too hard about trying not to think about Christmas break.

“Clear your head?” He asked.

“Tried to.” Then he glowered, feeling stupid. The Face was slipping again. Or, possibly, already off and on the (dirty) greenhouse floor.

Longbottom was looking at him, and he looked back, some part of him trying to be intimidating, and some other part of him trying very hard not to be.

Being with Longbottom, he thought, wasn’t nearly as bad as being in the dorms. He wasn’t sure what the take away from a thought like that should have been, so he attempted to take nothing away from it at all.

Longbottom looked better when he wasn’t scared. More, real. Or, maybe just less like a victim, and more like someone who did things in his spare time and had an interesting Thinking face. This was Regular Longbottom. Draco vowed to himself he’d see this face more often, and then immediately shot the promise down. Making promises after midnight was a bad idea, making promises to yourself after midnight was just stupid. Especially pointless ones.

Everything felt a little off. A little less like they were who they were, sitting on the grounds. It would go back to normal, Draco knew, when they left in the morning, nothing left as evidence but the soil on his pants. He would probably never have a real conversation with Longbotom again, and Longbottom would look scared every time he saw him. Something about the thought was almost unbearable.

Well, he decided, if this was the only real conversation they’d have, it might as well be a real one.

“I hate my parents,” He announced, loud and bright.

Longbottom jumped, like he’d been hexed after all.

“Well, not my mother,” Draco amended. “Though I am disappointed with some of her choices.”

Now it was Longbottom’s turn to ask, “What?”

“I don’t want to go home,” The false brightness leaked out, returning his voice to something less cheery. “for break. That’s why I wanted to clear my head.”

Longbottom nodded like this made sense, something that vaguely upset Draco, who felt he should have been more surprised.

The air in the greenhouse was humid, but the freezing wind battering against the glass walls still made Draco shiver. The light of the building illuminated the snow on the roof, and sliding down the walls, and he watched the snowflakes hit against them.

“I’m sorry,” Longbottom said.

“I can already hear them,” Draco said, before he realized he was going to say anything at all. “Fighting. And my dad.” He frowned, and effectively closed his mouth. His eyes flicked back down to Longbottom, who was watching him in the same patient way Draco was watching the snow.

“You dad?” There was an extra weight in his voice, something different in the way he said it, like he knew.

Draco frowned harder, unwilling to give into either of his impulses- to speak the truth, or to bite Longbottom’s head off. He looked back at the snow for a moment, then couldn't help but return his gaze to Longbottom.

He had an expression that Draco felt, inexplicably, was entirely Longbottom, a part of who he was in his ordinary life. It was a combination of soft eyes, downturned, body leaned just slightly forward, bottom left lip worried at, pulled just slightly into his mouth, and a downwards tilt to his chin. He held it long enough without speaking, that Draco could take it in in full, feeling as if he were accidentally memorizing it.

“I’m sorry,” He said again, but this time it sounded different.

Draco gave a little nod.

“Do you want a plant?”

“What?”

Longbottom stood up. “To bring home.”

“Are you instructing me to steal a plant, Longbottom?” He felt he was entirely losing his grip on the night.

“No,” Longbottom told him, somewhere out of sight. “I’m offering you one of mine.” He reappeared holding a tray of small pastel colored plants Draco couldn’t identify. Though, honestly, that wasn’t saying much.

Draco just stared at them, boy and plants.

“Professor Sprout lets me try growing my own plants here,” He explained. “You can have one.”

“No.”

Longbottom’s regular frown- or, more accurately, the one Draco was acquainted with- was a trembling, wide thing. The one he wore now was small enough you could almost ignore it, folded into the rest of his expression, like it had jut barely escaped.

“I can’t take one of your plants,” Draco insisted. “You grew them. I’d kill it. Believe me.”

Neville didn’t say anything, but shrugged, turned back to put the tray wherever he’d gotten it from, fast enough that Draco couldn’t tell if his expression had changed or not.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Draco asked, because he couldn’t resist the question any longer. “Right now? Why are you suddenly not afraid of me right now?”

Longbottom had turned back, and paused mid-step. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m _asking_?” The longer this conversation went on, the stupider Draco was feeling.

“No,” Longbottom corrected him, voice somewhere between soft and stern. Unwilling to be misunderstood. “I’m not afraid of you. I haven’t been afraid of you since I was 11.”

“Oh.”

And there should have been something to say, some question that needed asking, or answer that needed to be given, but Draco laid down, turning his face towards the table legs, not finding one or unwilling to voice the ones he had.

For the first time in months, sleep found him almost instantly.

The sun was up when he woke up, but only barely. The thing that had woken him was next to his head, a large blossom with something like bells hanging either around it or from it, shaking itself noisily. He picked up a hand, and waved it in front of the thing, unsure what he was supposed to do to stop it. Surprisingly, it worked.

He picked himself up off the ground with half-asleep arms, and dusted himself off for the semblance of normalcy. New day. He took in a deep breath, and adjusted his face into the one he needed.

He almost tripped in the doorway, only noticing the thing at the last second. It was a potted plant, a light, icy blue, similar to Draco’s eyes. The handwriting was light and coarse, and, though he hadn’t seen it before, unmistakeable.

_“Home for the Holidays today. Take a friend. I don’t think you’ll kill it. (Care instructions on the other side.) Happy Christmas.”_

Draco couldn’t stop himself from smiling.


End file.
